Musings on sharing my wife sexually with other men, my bisexual side, and about sex in general.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Blue Balls of Happenis [sic]

I awoke from a delicious afternoon nap not long ago thinking about sex. If you read me here frequently you already know that most of the time whenever I'm sleeping I come awake with some form of sex thoughts dancing through my head. As inexplicable as dreams, the sex thoughts in my head are there seemingly of their own accord with no discernible rhyme nor reason accounting for their presence except for the times when I'm obsessing about doing something in particular with somebody. Today I came awake thinking about my earliest days of fooling around with M and getting more than one good case of blue balls from our experimental petting.

If my brain ever forgets what blue balls feel like, my nuts themselves will remember that vise like pressure long into the gray abyss of Alzheimer's. M lived a few doors down from us, and I remember walking home from her house on more than one occasion in a semi squat like I might have done if I needed to walk and shit my pants at the same time lest my poor testicles accidentally brush up against the fabric of my boxers even lightly. In retrospect, every male neighbor who might have seen me walking home would probably have known that M and I were fooling aorund together though I don't recall ever getting a knowing wink and a thumbs up from any of them, least of all M's father or my own. And I still recall the horror of getting home with a throbbing set for the first time and jerking off only to discover that cumming doesn't immediately relieve the intense soreness in the old 'nads one iota. By the time you have stone ache, it's too late for a hearty fresco painting session with semen on the bedroom wall to get quell the deep and unique pain even though the orgasm itself is the explosive kind that might knock over the family cat if the first blast happens to catch it in the flank.

Now, after all of that, this is going to sound stupid, but I sort of miss getting blue balls. The trade-off of having a steady supply of tit and ass to fondle, and having a sweet set of girly hands, though inexperienced, touching my cock and balls was well worth the anguish of aching nuts at an age when most of the other guys my age were lucky if they could get their mitts on a dogeared Playboy. And it was good to be that excited. Sure I get all hot and bothered now too, but not with the unparalleled adolescent ferocity that often makes young men do some terribly stupid things when their cocks get hard. If I could do it all again, I'd welcome "the blues" back gladly with open arms if I could have M once more as my girlfriend to repeat all the fun things we did together.